


I of The Storm

by MintyTrifecta



Category: Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Another magic au, Black magic!Jose, Cerberus!Goofy, Creative License, Draconian!Beakley, Ember and The Crackling of Reality, Light shifter!Panchito, Magic inspired by different cultures, Minor Character Death, Mythologies that never collided are now at war, Other, Phoenix!Della, Renamed from Lightning, Storm spirit!Donald, Weird metaphors that aren't metaphors, What is consistency lol, What's that approaching on the horizon?, Will-o-wisp!Mickey, You're Welcome, accidental angst, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23826391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintyTrifecta/pseuds/MintyTrifecta
Summary: Adventure, one may think of as an action.Another might consider it an emotion.But to Donald?It means legacy and family.It's hard not to think of it that way when you're literally the descendant of an ancient storm spirit and a phoenix.
Comments: 60
Kudos: 143





	1. Unconventional Weather

When Donald was born he could feel the magic in his veins. His mother cooed at him and whispered soft praises into his ear. His father had his twin. The twins switched parents and Donald felt a shock as soon as his dad grabbed him. He touched their foreheads and softly whispered in a declaring tone.

“You are a child of fire and storm, never forget that.”

As Donald got older he realized what this meant. 

At age six his mom and dad took them to a mysterious building at the edge of the city. A dollar sign hung proudly on the top of it and the window blinded bright gold light to his face.

They stepped into the weird building in secret and Donald felt a shiver go up his spine. A sort of primal, instinctive growl left his beak as his gut screamed at him to run away and never look back this place reeks of hexes leave now go away.

Donald ignored the constant hum that danced in his fingers and helped set up a banner and a table of food. Every so often he spared a look at his dad.

The same expression was on his face.

Donald didn’t question it.

Soon enough, an old, stubborn man walked in through the door. His expression reeked of disgust and Donald had to take a step back. 

Fire surrounded this man as darkness surrounds the night.

All he left in his path was ashes. 

The man walked by, not sparing a second look at any of the people in the room and slammed the door behind him as he walked into an office. He could feel his mom’s grip on his hat tighten. Fire licked her fingers and her eyes. She stormed into the office screaming.

Della looked at her dad in concern and the three stepped forward, Aunt Matilda in tow.

They didn’t get very far, mom pushed them back into the hallway and tried to get them out the door. Donald took his fathers hand and looked him in the eyes.

His father looked back to him with a cold smirk and lightning in his eyes. 

‘Bring him hell’

His father said.

Donald let go of his hand and walked back to the angry man. 

Like lightning in a storm, Donald struck him with a kick.

He ran back to his parents and blew raspberries as the man’s flames exploded around him.

With a proud smile on his face he took his dad’s hand and walked out. His sister looked at him with a frown. Why didn’t you get me to kick him as well?

He hit her shoulder lightly and glanced at Aunt Matilda and his ma.

Matilda’s fire has been out since before Donald can remember. Always sputtering smoke instead of proud, tall flames. He often wondered what made her fire go out, but anytime he asked all he would get from her were confused stares.

His ma’s fire burned like candlelight. Tall and undefeated, but knowingly exhausted. Donald tried to reach out a spark to her, to tell her it would be okay. 

His sparks whittled and fell on the ground.

On his and Della’s twelfth birthday his ma and pa rented a boat.

Donald and his pa stayed above the deck, leaning towards the ocean. The waves begged at him to join them and who was he to complain? His father took his hand and they both jumped in. 

The water danced around his feathers with glee and delight.

But then Donald opened his eyes to a wondrous vision.

He could see everything under the water.

He saw his father poke and chase around a school of fish, he saw the slightest movement in the algae below him, he saw the tiniest crevice in the rocks that he swam nearby. Judging by his dad’s expression, he knew this would happen. 

His dad pointed up and the two swam back to the boat and got the engine running. Soon enough the boat swam away from the Duckburg docks and into the open sea.

Donald moved his legs back and forth while his father steered the ship.

“What… what was that?”

He didn’t have to look at his father to know how smug he looked.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, dad I’m serious. Why could I see underwater? Why could I breathe in the water without getting choked? What’s going on?”

His father chuckled. 

“You are a child of fire and storm.”

Donald sputtered in exasperation.

“You keep saying that! I don’t know what that means! Why do you always have to be so gosh darn cryptic?!”

His father let out a thunderous laugh.

“Tell me, Donald. Have you ever noticed flames around certain people? Or flowers blooming near others? Have you ever seen flashes of light when watching people do something they’re passionate about?”

“I… yeah. I have. But that doesn’t explain why-

“It’s magic, Donald.”

That was unexpected.

“It’s what?”

“Magic. Your mother’s clan comes from a long line of fire magic. Every outburst, every temper tantrum is the magic being let out. Of course, her family isn’t aware of that small fact considering how anti-magic they all are.”

“But… the fire never burns anything.”

“Magic is fickle like that. Powerful mages can spend their whole life with innate magical abilities but unless they use it the magic’s going to stay hidden from them.”

“Magic exists in so many more places and people than you realize, Donald. It comes from culture, heritage, religion, communities, hell I even know someone that got magic from reading a fictional book!”

Donald looked out into the ocean.

“So… the whole me-seeing-underwater thing is magic?”

“Look at that you finally caught up congrats kiddo.”

Donald kicked his dad’s knee and chortled.

“But yes. That comes from my side of the family. One of your oldest ancestors, Pintail Duck, revolutionized the magic of storms and was considered one of the best Storm Callers of his time. Unfortunately one night when trying to cast a spell, his magic caught up with him in the form of a wild sea storm. His shipmates tried to steer away from it but the winds kept bringing them back. Pintail was caught in the middle of it, overwhelmed by his own power and accidentally sunk the boat.”

“Of course, he did have kids of his own who learned storm magic so his legacy continued on. Why, your grandmother is one of the best rain witches I’ve ever heard of, don’t tell her I said that I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Donald chuckled to himself and kept his dad’s words. Storm Caller, huh? He could do that.

“Donaaaald tell dad we wanna get off the boat mom has something she wants to show me!"

Della screamed from below the boat.

"As you can tell, Della got more of the fire than you."

Donald barked out a laugh.

The day Donald's parents got in a car crash the skies thundered deafening storms. 

Shattered glass splattered out across the road.

Pieces of metal strewn about in a collage of disaster. A feathered, bloody hand stuck out from under a broken window.

Della screamed as the car burst into flames.

Donald moved towards his sister with no expression on his face. He clasped a hand on her shoulder and lightning struck. 

She hugged him with the force of a thousand embers and Donald returned the favor. 

The two sat there for hours before getting discovered and brought to their grandmother.

The first few weeks were tough. The rain never stopped pouring and fires started randomly during the night. 

Gus was softly pouring rain. He hugged Donald and his sister like gentle raindrops falling to a flower petal and sinking to the dirt. He didn’t know how to comfort them but he was always there when Della’s embers sparked a fire or when Donald started drowning. Gus was never good with words but just sitting close to him and hearing his rain was enough for Donald. No words needed to be said.

Della… had a harder time with it. 

She’d wake up at night screaming at the skies to bring them back. She used to run through the forest around the barn and ignite in fits of rage. 

Della was a forest fire in the middle of the desert. She was man’s first light. She was as bright and scorching as the sun and she vowed to show it to fate. 

Grandma Elvira was a thunderstorm in a rainforest and a flood running down a river. She tried to be the calm winds that extinguish her flames and with tough love, she was.

But every rainstorm dies down.

Elvira got too tired to take care of them.

Scrooge hesitantly offered a place for them in his mansion.

During their limo ride to Scrooge’s mansion Della roamed around the limo in wonder and Donald smiled as flames glided from her cheeks. Donald felt anxious sparks of lightning ripple between his twiddling fingers.  
He remembers meeting Scrooge. If the duck were to practice he was sure his magic would have burned Donald’s feathers off. Donald doesn’t trust this guy. Family or not, his magic told him to turn away and who was he to disobey it.

The two were escorted inside by the resident housekeeper. She said her name was Bentina Beakley. Donald felt a hum in the back of his head. This woman was definitely magic. Donald couldn’t place it, but one glance shared with his sister told him she was thinking the same thing. 

An hour inside and the two were unpacking their belongings in their shared bedroom. No sign of Scrooge yet. 

“Y’know, I bet Ms. Beakley’s a spy.”

Donald paused in the midst of hanging up his Geezer poster.  
“What?”

“She’s definitely a spy. Did you see the way she looked around the house as we came in? She was looking for threats or break-ins.”

Donald looked at her with an inredicolous expression.

“I’m tellin’ ya. She’s definitely a spy.”

“Well I don’t know about that but she’s definitely magic. That much we can agree on.”

Della sat on her bed with a bounce.

“Oh absolutely. What kind of magic, I wonder.”

“Well she’s british so we can focus on that area. Which types did mom and dad teach us?”

“Cunning folk?”

“Hmm maybe… Oh! How about a female Lob?”

The two laughed.

“She- she doesn’t have a furry tail! Nor does she have that much hair!”

From outside their door they heard a shout. 

“I can hear you two! Firstly I’d like it if you didn’t talk behind my back and secondly, all I have is slight strength.”

Donald and Della were silent for a moment before Della spoke,

“So how much you wanna bet she’s secretly a fae?”

“Kids!”

The two burst out laughing.

When it comes time for dinner, Donald and Della see Scrooge again; for the first time in over six years.

He looks nervous and fiddles with his cane. His smile appears like a fragile candle seconds away from dying. It takes Donald a few seconds but in Scrooge's eyes he can recognize small sparks of guilt.

"Er… hi kids. I dinnae think you remember me but-"

"Trust me. We remember."

Della muttered just loud enough to be heard.

Scrooge stayed silent. a flame flickered off of his cheek in embarrassment and insecurity. Good, Donald thought. Let him feel bad.

"I get that you're mad. I truly am sorry-"

Now it's Donald's turn to get mad. He slammed his hands on the table, marks left from lightning.

"Are you?! Are you sorry?! You shut your family out and spend your life in riches not giving a damn about where they are and you only come back now that they're dead! Do you know how cruel that is?! I've asked ma and dad for years to see you and any time I did they'd get bitter and they continued to get even angrier at you. You left your family behind and now you apologize to us. You should be apologizing to mom but guess what? You can't do that! You know why? Because she's dead!"

Donald breathed heavily. Tears raining down his cheeks. The sky outside mirroring the sky in himself. 

With a thunder and slam of his hand he set back down and turned away from Scrooge. 

Scrooge tried talking again, ash in his throat. 

"Lad, I know I haven't been the best. I know what I did was stupid and irresponsible of me. I… I truly am sorry. I can't change the past but I want to change the present. If you can forgive me."

Della’s dancing flames sputtered out with a sigh, smoke coming off of her shoulders. 

“Fine. We’ll give you a chance.”

Donald’s feathers froze as the storm outside turned into snow.


	2. A Trick of The Light and The Sound of The Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trick of the lights leads Donald to an omen in Mexico. Later in Brazil, it leads him to a charm.

Scrooge and Della are a cacophony of smoke and blazes. 

Their pyre bursts out heavily with each step they take.

The phoenix in them beckons to be let out. That much is evident from all of their aventuring. 

Donald doesn’t get it.

Sure, adventuring is fun and all but he doesn’t see the need to do it every other week. 

Their latest adventure has the three searching deep inside ancient Aztec temple for an obsidian blade said to still hold the blood of gods.

Donald thought back on what his uncle had told him about this adventure. The temple was devoted to Nanahuatzin. An Aztec sun god who humbly accepted his role of being the sun after others before him failed the task. 

Donald walked through the big empty halls alone, each step thunders in the abandoned chambers. 

Donald saw a blaze speed past in the corner of his eye, red luster echoes past him. 

Donald paused. 

What the hell was that? 

Donald glanced at his sister and uncle already making their way into the next flight of stairs.

Whatever that thing was, It asked Donald to follow it. Practically teased him.

Della and Scrooge were already far ahead, they wouldn't mind if he stays behind a little more, right?

Donald grins.

Lightning flashes from his feet as he shoots towards the light. Across the hallway he moved, tracking the luminescent figure.

It moved and bent, trying to get Donald off of its trail, but Donald was adamant. 

At the very bottom of the temple, Donald caught it in a corner. The light stood still. Cowering in fear from him.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. You just caught my attention.”

The light moved but for just a second before slowly making its way towards Donald. 

“That’s right, come here. I just want to see what you are. I was told there’d be some remnants of magic left here but nothing as major as you.”

The light made its way towards Donald’s hand and rested softly on his palms. It felt like velvet caressing his fingertips with barely any heat attached. Donald started petting the gleaming orb.

“Wait till Uncle Scrooge and Della see you. You’re so much better than an obsidian blade, aren’t you?” Donald cooed.

Making sure the orb was secured safely in his hands, Donald raced to the top of the temple where Della and their uncle were supposed to be.

“Guys! Look at what I found!”

The two turned around.

“There ye are, lad! Didn’t see ye for a while there.”

“Yeah yeah whatever. Check it out! I found an orb of light inside the temple!”

Donald struck his hands out and grinned, waiting for their reaction. Della laughed.

“Uh Donnie, that doesn’t even look remotely close to an orb of light.” 

Donald opened his eyes and instead of seeing the bright glowing magic he saw…

A red feather.

“What the?”

Scrooge chuckled softly and patted Donald’s shoulder.

‘If this was yer way of trying to get us to leave this adventure, it didn’t work. Maybe next time, laddie.”

The two started walking back to where the blade was held and Donald sputtered and crossed his arms. Trudging to his family as they debated on how to lift the blade from its resting spot.

Donald didn’t say a word as they flew back to Duckburg, the rain shower outside spoke loudly enough.

Whenever Della finds something Scrooge always cheers and supports her but whenever Donald sees something remotely interesting? Useless junk. He couldn't understand why Scrooge doesn’t see what he does.

Magic. A Shadowed part of his mind hissed. Their magic attracts each other like moths to a light. Yours extinguishes. It’s no wonder he favors her over you.

Donald twirled the red feather in his hand. He found himself keeping it close to him. It’s magic hummed in tune with his own and Donald couldn’t place it, but he felt a familiar feeling whenever the feather was in his hand.

His magic extinguishes, huh? Looks like the weather forecast will have to work by itself. 

Two weeks later and the Cloudslayer lands somewhere in the jungles of Brazil. 

Donald feels an ache in his chest and the back of his head. The jungle is expansive and green and Donald feels like he’s choking. Della and Scrooge don’t seem to notice. They talk of a creature that could lead them to gold. Donald doesn’t care.

The two move forward with Donald by their side. They try to talk to him but it’s too hot and damp. Donald’s world closes in on him and he runs.

Thunder echoes in the sky and Donald can barely hear it. The only thought in mind is to run to an open area. Run to the ocean. Fly in the wind. Be anywhere but here.

Donald sinks to his knees. 

Rain surrounds him with anger. 

The only sound he can hear is wind.

A hand touches his back. 

Donald sits up and backs away.

A red-haired furry creature stares at him in curiosity.

It coos.

Donald screams. 

The creature jumps backwards.

Donald brings his shaking hands forwards and tries to call upon lightning.

Nothing budges.  
Donald grunts and thunder is heard as he tries again. 

Nothing.

Donald screams and strikes his hands into the ground.

Lightning and wind moves in all directions around Donald.

He opens his eyes and sees his hands. The feathers on his palms and fingers singes beyond all recognition. Ashes fall to the ground from his burnt skin. The trees around him lost all green, the ground lies barren.

Donald curls up on himself. 

The creature looks around. Concern written on its face. It tentatively moves forwards. Reaching for Donald.

Before laying a hand on the boy, the creature hesitates. The boy doesn’t like being touched. 

The creature sits in front of him and thinks. Well, he certainly can’t keep him inside the forest. The boy needs the ocean. 

The creature smiles and jumps up. Now there’s a plan!

The creature runs through a green trail in the forest until it comes upon a peccary. The creature wallops and jumps on the animal’s back, riding it back to the boy.

He finds the child lying on the ground. Poor thing exhausted himself with that much panic. 

The creature hops off of the peccary and picks the child up, almost tripping on its backwards feet and gently puts him on top of the hog. 

Making sure the child is secure, he wallops and the collared peccary rides again. The trio make their way to the beach. They stay hidden just in the outskirts of the woods. 

“Oh, what do you have there, little curupira?”

The creature coos and points to the boy.

“Oh céus. What happened to him?”

The creature tries to mime its interactions with the boy. 

“Curupira, I’m afraid I do not understand you.”

The green parrot lifts Donald into his arms, immediately feeling a shock as he did so.

“Ah, I see now. He is a storm spirit, yes?”

The creature jumps up and down in confirmation.

“You found him in the jungle? That’s a strange spot for a storm spirit to be in. No wonder he’s tired.”

The creature nudges the boy slightly, he doesn’t stir.

“Thank you for bringing him to me, amigo. I will take care of him now.”

The creature wallops and runs back into the forest. 

Donald awoke hours later with the orange-tinted sun setting on his face. 

He groans and tries to sit up and pauses.

Bandages sit on his hands where the feathers and skin were burned off. 

Wait a second where the hell is he?!

He looks around and sees the ocean staring at him. A wave moves closer towards him as if to say ‘Finally awake? Took you long enough’ 

Behind him Donald saw the forest. Did he walk to the ocean and forget it?

“A Curupira found you and brought you to the edge of the woods. I carried you to the ocean.”

Donald jumped and saw a green parrot looking at him. He looked to be about the same age as Donald, if not a little younger.

“What were you doing in the jungle? That’s no place for a weather spirit to be, much less a storm one.”

Donald stares in surprise. “You know?”

The parrot laughs. “Amigo, how could I not? The second I brushed your feathers I could tell.”

Donald sighed. “I was with my family looking for gold there. I dunno why I started freaking out like that.”

The parrot hummed in thought. “Tell me, amigo. Have you not been using your magic lately?”

Donald racked his brain. 

“No. I uh… I haven’t used it for the past two weeks.”

The parrot stuttered and yelled.

“Two weeks?! And you decided to come to the Tijuca forest?! That area is packed with magical creatures and will absorb any user’s energy! Especially one that needs open space to survive!”

“Wait, survive?”

The parrot conceded. 

“Essentially. Magic is like a second pulse. Like keeping up physical exercise to help your blood pulse. Keeping up consistent magic practice keeps up your magical pulse. Except this time, it has much stricter requirements. Your magic requires you to be in open spaces and near the ocean. The fact that you did not go near one for two weeks combined with not practicing led to your magic bursting out in unexpected ways.”

“Amigo, you do not just cast storms. You are the storm. The rain shower turned into a hurricane because you didn’t keep up with it.”

Donald sighed. 

“Well, I don’t suppose you’ll let me practice here for a while, will you?”

The parrot smiled. “Not at all! Take all the time you need. Dinner will be ready soon, I’ll call you when it is.”

The parrot stood up and headed towards a house sitting near the water.

“Wait a second!” Donald cried.

The parrot turned around.

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

He smiled. “Of course, amigo. It’s my pleasure.”

Donald smiled. 

“Name’s Donald, by the way.”

The parrot smiled and tipped his baseball hat.

“Jose Carioca.”

Donald spends the evening calling upon storms and manipulating lightning. As he and Jose grow closer he learns that Jose himself is also magic. His family practices black magic and has done so for centuries. The two team up to make a light show for his family after they finish eating their dinner.

Only then do Della and Scrooge show up. 

“Donald! Where in dismal downs have you been?! We’ve been looking for you for hours!”

Donald jumps back and whips his head towards his furious uncle.

“Uncle Scrooge! Let me explain please I-

“Oh you’ll do some explaining alright! We thought you up and died!”

“I’m sorry I just had to get away from the forest. I did it recklessly and I’m sorry but I had to get away.”

“This is the second adventure this month that you’ve tried to leave. If you really wanted to stay at home you could have just said so!”

“It’s not that I don’t want to go on adventures, it’s just that-

“If I can intrude for a second, Donald really did have to get away. Storm spirits need open spaces and solitary space. Being in a place filled to the brim with magical creatures that know how to absorb energy is harmful and Donald’s magic told him to get away. He obeyed.”

Della and Scrooge stare at Jose. 

“Your magic is descended from a phoenix, yes? All you have to do to make sure it’s secure is to explore and discover. Storm magic is a little more complicated than that, I’m afraid.”

Scrooge sighs and glances at the night sky. 

“Well, we couldn’t find anything in there anyway. Why don’t you kids stay on the beach while I bring the Cloudslayer to the beach?”

For the first time in two weeks, the wind around Donald moves north. Everything will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of all the magic backlashes I could have made for this au I had to make "Magic throws a hissy-fit" and honestly? Very on brand for me we stan


	3. Peculiar Magic and Illusions of Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donald, Panchito, Jose, Goofy and Mickey talk about magic after a storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of time I have taken out of my life to research for Mickey's family is unreal. Took me over an hour just to find his relative istg.

Mickey and Goofy have a peculiar sort of magic.

Upon their first meeting something felt off about Mickey.

The film major had asked for The Caballero’s help for his film. Unbeknownst to most of the public, they were the ones who wrote the score for the titular mouse’s debut film.

While Donald was always acquainted with Mickey, he’s never formally met the guy. 

So when Donald shakes his hand and feels a thick wind roll off of his fingers like fog over a swamp, he knows there’s more to him than he says.

Donald watches Mickey from afar, confusing riddles on his face.

There’s no fire around the mouse. He can’t feel any changes or pulses around him. He’s not like Panchito with his echoing light following his every step. He’s not like Jose, who knows how to mend and weave the darkest of nights to his own will.

Mickey is strange.

All there is around him is light.

Not a normal light, not like Chito’s which bends and echoes around him. Not like Scrooge or Della’s light that flares up and dances at the mention of adventure.

His light doesn’t move. It glows in a dull and sullen way, no movement.

Donald blinks and the light disappears.

In a way, this light is not there at all.

In a way, it’s just a trick and illusion.

But, Donald thinks, All magic is illusion before practice.

A whispering whale-song emits from the winds rolling off of his shoulders and head in a cool ocean blue.

A group consisting of Donald, Panchito, Jose, Mickey and Goofy all stretch out in the living room of Donald’s dorm room watching a movie.

A cool wind blows outside as uncontrollable snow meets Donald’s calm rain showers.

Winter break starts tomorrow so the five have decided to have a mini-holiday party between them and watch Die Hard.

( “It’s a christmas movie, Donald. It takes place during christmas.”

“That doesn’t make it a christmas movie, Goofy; all it makes it is a movie set in the holidays.

“Do you want my cookies or not.

“Shut up I’ll get the popcorn.”)

Donald keeps stealing glances at Mickey the whole night. Maybe once the movie’s over they can talk..

Donald’shead is in the clouds for half of the movie. Wondering what it is about Mickey that makes him so unnerving.

The guy is friendly and optimistic. Sure, he can be in denial a lot of the time and has no goddamn idea how to handle anxiety so he shuts himself and everyone else down but his optimistic attitude never leaves.

A gunshot fires in the movie and Donald startles in surprise.

A loud thunder echoes in the halls of the dorm, followed by a flashing light.

Now the power’s out. Great.

“Ah fuck. I am so sorry about that.”

He hears shifting in the dark before a velvet white orb of light floats in the middle.

“It is no problem, Donaldo. Sometimes these things just happen.”

“Still. With the storm acting up I should be more careful.”

He hears a laugh coming from his left and Jose raises his voice.

“If only younger you could have had the same mindset you do now. That would have saved you so much trouble.”

Panchito and Donald snicker.

“I know, right?”

Mickey interrupts. 

“So are you three just gonna pretend like Goofy and I aren’t here? That’s fine, it’s cool not like we want to be included.”

He says with a pout.

The three cackle, a loud and thunderous unison of voices.

“Sorry senor. We were just caught up in the moment. Has Donald not told you about how he handled magic as a kid?”

Mickey stops to ponder the question.

“Well… no. I mean I knew he had magic but it’s not like we talk about it.”

Goofy joins in the conversation by adding, “No time like the present! While we wait for the power to come back on, we can talk all about it..”

Donald raises a hand and sighs. The rain outside gets harder.

"I’d love to begin by asking a question. Mickey, what the fuck is your magic?” 

“I’m sorry what?”

Donald seethes and stares Mickey right in the eye. Lightning flares in his eyes.

“Ever since the first time I saw you there was something strange about your whole… vibe. Even by my standards.”

Mickey laughs. An incredulous, unbelievable laugh and it makes Donald want to fry his tail off.

“I-I don’t have magic! That’s absolutely ridiculous!”

Panchito shakes his head.

“Amigo, you very clearly have some sort of magic to you. I cannot see or sense magic like Donald does but even for me it is apparent. There is clearly something there.”

Donald recounted his first meeting with the Caballeros,

“Jose has told me time and time again of how magic needs practice to be seen. The only reason I know him is because of magic.”

“Si. If there’s one thing I learned from my magic is that it wants to be seen. Yours maybe not so much. But it's still in there waiting. I know from experience what keeping magic in does and let me tell you, Mexico was burning hot for a week from it. Bad idea.”

“I don’t know, fellas. I’ve never experienced anything like that.”

“You moved to Duckburg from Mouseton, of course you didn’t. We all know how stuck up they are against anything mystical.” Goofy chimed.

“Okay fair point. Even so, what could possibly be my magic? Like you said, Mouseton has nothing magical. Why should I be any different?”

“Mick, with magic, nothing is as it seems. Not all magic is grand shows of power or big curses. Sometimes it can be as small as just always remembering your way home no matter where you are or even knowing the exact location of something someone lost.”

“But yours is much more than that. It has a sort of a, wispy aspect to it.”

Donald mutters to himself in confusion. “Wispy…”

“That explains nothing but thanks anyways.”

Panchito sputters in an attempt to illuminate the situation.

"Your magic is ominous. It has a seer's quality but you say you've never had anything magical happen to you.

Say, Mickey, do you know where your family originates from? Usually magic comes from old family roots."

Mickey's gloves hand strokes his chin in contemplation.

"I know that before my family moved to Calisota they lived in Massachusetts. Near Worcester I think? Maybe Bridgewater. That was back in 1754 I think. Is that good enough?"

"No. You're not native american. It isn't in your blood. Can you think back any farther?"

"Oh! Oh my grandmother's Irish! And my father's got relatives in Germany!"

"Ay, now we're heading somewhere!" Panchito flashed a smile.

Goofy pulled out his phone and started searching.

"Wispy…."

"I mean there's only so much it can be."

Wispy.

"I found someth- wait no never mind."

Wispy. 

"Is the storm getting louder or is it just me?"

"Wispy. Wispy! Wispy! I know what it is!"

Donald shoots up from the couch, lightning shoots from his arms and zaps José.

"Ay caramba!"

"Oops. Uh. Sorry Zé."

José clutches his elbow and wheezes.

"Do not worry. I am perfectly fine."

'What were you saying, Donald?"

"You're a Will-O-Wisp! At least partly."

Mickey stares blankly at Donald.

"I'm a what now?"

"Will-O-Wisp. They're spirits who lead lost travelers to their doom or to treasure, depending on the culture. They're both in Irish and Germanic mythologies."

"I've never done anything like that in my life."

"Maybe not, but magic manifests itself differently. You jump at any chance you can to help someone. In other words, you lead lost people to their paths."

Mickey purses his lips. 

"You've told me before how you get shivers down your spine before something important happens. That's part of it. Small gut instinct magic is magic nonetheless."

"I...guess so." Mickey whispers with a silent, untrusting chuckle.

"Aw, Mick there's no reason to get upset. I remember the first time I found out I had magic I was upset too. But I learned to accept it."

"Gosh it couldn't have been that bad."

"Nope! It was that bad. It's not every day you find out your oldest relative was the brother of Cerberus."

A silence fell among the group.

"WHAT?!"

"Yeah that was my reaction! Apparently Orthros never actually died. He reformed into one of my oldest relatives, Horatio Goof."

"That is both parts impressive and terrifying. So you're related to an ancient hell dog? What kind of magic souls that possibly give you?"

Donald raises a brow.

"Not much, really. All it is for me is just an alarm that tells ne when a situation or person is in danger. That person usually is me but that's besides the point."

The group laughs and the lights start to flicker back on as the storm outside quits its restless wailing.

"On that note, I think it's time we head to our own dorm. You coming, Mick?"

"Oh-uh yeah I'll be there in a sec."

"Okey dokey. I'll keep the door open for ya."

"Thanks pal."

With that, Goofy left. 

Donald could see from the corner of his eye that Mickey was staring at him. José and Panchito clearly did as well.

"I think that Zé and I are going to head back to bed. You two should do the same soon. Goodnight!"

And then there were two.

"You've been uncomfortable around me. Ever since you figured out what I am. Why?"

Donald reels.

"Wait you knew this whole time?"

"Answer the question, Donald."

"No you answer mine. You knew and didn't say so? Why the hell have us play this guessing game?" 

Mickey only deepens his glare.

"You get uncomfortable any time I'm near. You flinch when I get close enough to touch you. Why do you think that is?"

"Gee, I don't know Michael. Why don't you tell me."

"I help guide lost souls to their destination." 

"So? Maybe it means I can sense you feeling bad or afraid or-"

"I'm not lost, Donald."

…….. 

"You've been lost. For a long, long time. I can guide you only if you let me. But it's very clear you prefer to stay and wander."

Donald shoulders tense, his mouth tastes of drought.

"What… w-what are you talking about."

"You feel out of place. Always have. You feel as though no one in your family or friend group understands you. But you can't ask them for help, noooo. You are a proud and loud storm spirit and you can't reveal weakness. Why do you think that is?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Mickey stands up.

"Maybe not directly, no. But deep down, you know exactly what I'm talking about."

Mickey makes his way to the door and opens it.

"I am not lost, Donald. You are."

With a thundering slam of the door, Donald is left alone.

Lost and alone.

Mickey and Goofy have a peculiar sort of magic. The kind that shakes you down to your core. Their magic might not be perfect, but their instincts are never wrong.

How Donald wishes he could say the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent too long researching and had to write this all in a day so if it seems bad now you know why. I just finished writing it and clicked post right away no regrets WE DIE LIKE MEN


	4. Interlude Part I: Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrooge and his mother talk of old warriors and gods, what they mean and how they influence them, Scrooge only wishes he would have listened more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that I'm four chapters in and still don't have any idea what the plot is supposed to be props for me. 
> 
> I've said it before and I'll say it again, The amount of research I do for each chapter is u n r e a l. Like I spend days researching before typing even the first sentence.

When people recount the tales of old gods and their battles, all they talk of is gods flying into battle or protecting their land from invaders.

But that is not the full story. Therein lies much more than what the people are willing to share.

These stories are passed in kin and told with utmost secrecy. 

The world might remember the gods, but the people never forget the warriors.

Warriors who fought proudly with the rising sun against invaders.

Scrooge recalls his father cradling Hortense, whispering legends of irish gods and heroes. 

While the boy would never admit it, a pang of jealousy flared in his chest. Why couldn’t he be a warrior with legends told of him?

Or at least, he used to feel jealous.

One early morning, Downy woke Scrooge up.

“Scrooge, wake up. I want to show you something.”

Scrooge groaned and put a pillow over his head.

“Can’t it wait?”

Downy chuckled and pulled the pillow off of the duckling’s head.

“No, my darling. It cannot.”

Scrooge sighed and slid off the bed, webbed feet padding softly on the creaking floorboards. Downy smiled softly at her son’s sleepy state and took his hand.

The two crept slowly and quietly past the two sleeping girls. Matilda and Hortense were two extremely light sleepers, it seems only the boys in the McDuck family slept heavily.

The door creaked softly as the two stepped into the streets. Blindly following his mother, Scrooge was led to the riverside.

His mother sighed and smiled softly, tears almost forming in her eyes, as she sat down. Scrooge followed.

The sky was painted an orange as bright as fire, deepening into a red shade as deep as the holiest of blood. In the height of the sky, stars peek out, hesitant to shine in the bright orange sky.

The only sound around them was the wind that whispered of coming storms and meetings of fate.

“It’s such a nice sunset, isn’t it?”

Scrooge tilted his head and looked at his mam and back to the sunset.

“It looks just like any other sunset.”

“Ah, but this one is special.”

“Why would that be?”

His mam’s eyes seemed to almost glow in the reflection of the light striking against the water.

“Brigid’s birthday is today.”

Scrooge squinted his eyes.

“Brigid? I don’t know a Brigid.”

She smiles.

“I know you don’t, mo ghrá. That is why I brought you here.”

She smiled.

“Brigid is a goddess. A bright, fiery, amazing goddess.”

“One of ours, mam?”

“Aye. The daughter of Dagda. She was the goddess of fire and water. Passion and motherhood. Even weapons were under her domain.”

Scrooge giggled.

“She can’t be the goddess of both fire AND water. Why can’t she just choose?”

Downy started petting her son’s head.

“Aye, but she was. A kind mother who loved her son and a fierce warrior too. While her son perished in battle she kept dredging on. The Fomorians stood no chance against her and her kin.”

Scrooge faltered.

“Fomorians?”

“A fierce tribe of giants who lived in Ireland before us. The Tuatha De Danann tried to get the land split equally but the giants refused. With that the battle between Fomorian and Tuatha De started.”

“Have you met any? Have you fought them? Before you came to Scotland?”

Scrooge jabbed his face in his mam’s cheek.

Downy laughed and softly pushed his face away from her.

“No, dear. I’m afraid not. They all disappeared ages ago.”

Scrooge pouted and slouched.

“It’s alright, Scroogey. I’d rather they be gone than harm you in any way.”

“It would still be nice to fight one.”

Downey laughed at her son’s antics.

“I guess so.”

A silence falls upon the duo.

“Why did you tell me this? I don’t understand.”

Downy’s eyes shadow as she speaks in a dull, aged tone.

“Because I’m getting older, mo ghrá.. I need someone to remember the sunrise.”

Scrooge’s stomach flipped.

“What- what are you talking about?”

Downy sighs and shrinks into herself.

Scrooge tries hard not to notice how jaded she appears.

“We are the descendants of Brigid herself, Scrooge. The sunrise belongs to us. The phoenix herself has bestowed upon us the gift of blazes and adventure. Before you or your sisters, it was me who had to carry the gift…

Which now belongs to you.”

Scrooge lifts his head in shock.

“What?!”

Downy breathes a deep breath and recites,

“And thus the phoenix shall rise. Airborne from ashes, wind ignites life once more. May it engulf daylight as bright as the sun and dark as night. The phoenix is reborn. For what else might have a beating heart as bright as the sun.”

Scrooge seethes.

“That. Explains. Nothing.”

“I cannot hold the power of a phoenix forever, mo ghrá. It, like it’s original source, is reborn. 

“I’m getting older, Scrooge.”

The young boy looks down, hot tears forming in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks, eyes furrowed with a feeling he can’t quite place.

“But why… why me? Why not Matilda or Hortense?”

“You have used your abilities in ten years more than I have in a lifetime. I wish I could tell you why it chose you over your sisters but I can’t.”

“So what? I;m just supposed to believe I have magic all of a sudden?”

Downy cringed.

“I know it’s not something easy to accept, Scrooge. But you have to trust me.”

And so he did.

At the very least, he used to.

From the moment he first stepped onto Mississippi land until the final rising sun of her life.

Scrooge left Scotland with a heavy feeling in his chest. Matilda and Hortense were in another tent, idly buying time until morning arrived.

But come the break of dawn and Scrooge finds himself feeling cold.

This isn’t the cold he felt in the deep Klondike winters.   
This isn’t the sharp stinging cool of being trapped in an iceberg with Goldie.

This is a deep, dark chill that shakes Scrooge down to his core.

Scrooge scurries off of the cart the siblings were piled up on and ran.

He doesn’t know where his feet are taking him and frankly, he doesn’t care. 

As long as it’s away from the cold.

Scrooge starts to shiver, his pants are visible in the cold air.

Something is wrong.

Something is very, very wrong.

Scrooge tries to scream but nothing escapes his dried up throat aside from cold, dry, pathetic wheezes.

His vision gets blurry.

And as a moth is to a flame, Scrooge crumbles.

And everything around him burns.

Yet all Scrooge can feel is cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie keeping up consistent update schedules is h a r d. I've been trying to update every saturday or friday and here I am posting on a monday. I'm so good at making fanfictions y'all.
> 
> Please comment it gives me life ty <3


	5. Interlude: Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young girl wanders into an abandoned and eerie forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *finds canon magical backstory for a character*
> 
> Me: *Adds another layer to it*
> 
> Me: *Accidentally gives angsty backstory*
> 
> Me: f u c k

Hidden in the depths of Italy, an edge of the forest lies.

Any who wander in are overcome with wonder.

The strolls turn into wanders and eyes shine in the dark.

An eerie weight on the chest befalls those who can see.

Yet in this forest, vision doesn’t last long. 

A mind can twist and blur in the night.

And so it does to all but one.

A young girl wanders through an ancient trail, tears spilling softly on her small, frowning cheeks.

Her parents have long gone and she was left alone.

The winds whistle and shriek in the cold air.

She shivers and curls up.

No animal has come near.

No person has shown their face.

She’s alone.

A cold force grips her shoulder.

She runs.

The girl runs and runs until her feet ache, until her heart stings.

She continues running and doesn’t look back. 

She can feel the cold catching up to her.

She can’t look back.

The young girl runs and runs and runs until-

A drop.

Cold water lies below in a fast stream.

She has nowhere else to go.

The girl screams and takes a jump.

Ice seizes her lungs as she tries to take a breath, coughs and wheezes being the only sound to escape her throat.

She tries to swim to the other side of the stream to no avail.

Her arms and legs refuse to move.

The girl can feel her fingers twitching, trying to force the rest of her arm to do something.

The girl gets pulled under the current once more, unable to bring herself out. 

She sucks in a breath, suffocated by water.

The girl attempts to cough yet only gets more water in her lungs. 

She closes her eyes and feels her muscles relax.

This is it.

This is where it ends.

The stream leads her to a waterfall.

Wind whips around her unconscious form as she falls to her doom.

Sharp, cold talons grab the young girl and lift her to solid ground.

The bird drops the girl onto muddy, blackened dirt, staining her feathers a dark hue.

The bird coos and smiles at her unconscious form and waves their feathered shawl over the girl’s head.

Her eyes snap open and she coughs, sitting upright and shivering.

“Aren’t you a small one?’ It purrs, “All alone in a forest of mysteries. It’s not safe out here, you know.”

The girl backs away slowly, brushing her midnight-black hair away from her face.

“W-who are you?”

The creature sits down in front of her, it’s tall, lanky figure shadowing the moon from reaching the girl's face.

“I am not important, dear. You are.”

“And… why would that be?”

The creature smiles a soft, comforting smile. It’s pitch black eyes show no sign of friendliness.

“You are cold, child. Come closer and I will tell you.”

The girl hesitantly crawls closer, the creature lies still.

She lays her hand upon the creature’s soft feathers, they feel almost of silk, the girl thinks.

The creature props the girl into her lap and starts stroking her head.

“I am Circe, Goddess of magic. Yet I am not.”

The girl tilted her head.

“Circe has been long gone, child. Yet her heart still beats. I am her heart and yet I am not.”

“Why are you in the forest? Are you looking for the rest of her body?”

The creature’s smile gets deeper.

“I’ve already found it, my sweet. I already found it.”

The girl looks down at her hands and picks her loose feathers. The creature makes her uncomfortable…

“What are you doing in the forest, my sweet? It is not safe for little girls to be in forests alone.

“I got lost.. I don’t know where my parents are.”

The creature grabs a handful of the girl’s hair, then another and another.

“What pity. Do you know your way home?”

The creature starts to braid her hair.

“I don’t. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?!”

The creature shushes the girl.

“Oh, Cuore Mio. Do not worry of that now. You are safe. I am here for you.”

“I suppose… Oh! Wait a minute!”

The girl stood up excitedly.

“What is it, love?”

“You have wings! You can fly me into town to find them!”

The creature’s smile flickered, for only a second.

“A wonderful idea! Why don’t we head there now?"

The girl nodded vigorously and grinned from cheek to cheek.

The creature sighs and extends it’s figure. Thick, scaly talons shake the ground as it stands. Like a slow rising tide, it’s wings unfold. One by one, the feathers extend. It reminds the girl of early mornings in holy buildings, sinners stretching hands out in prayer and pleads for forgiveness.

One flap after another, the creature lifts itself off the ground and makes its way towards the girl, grabbing her by the shoulders and shoots into the sky like a flare from a ship lost at sea.

The girl’s raven hair whips in the force of the wind. 

“Do not look down, dear. Close your eyes. You’re safe with me.

The girl did as she was told.

The creature grinned.

Making a sharp turn, the creature headed back into the woods.

The creature swerved past trees and stones, feathers whipping in the wind.

The creature cawed in the deep dark night, a triumphant, victorious, prideful screech.

Shap as a blade, the creature came across a mountain,

It flapped its wings upwards with ease and spread itself out across the dark night sky.

It dips down and folds its wings inside.

“What’s going on? Are we close?”

The creature tightens it’s hold on the girl.

“Not yet, Cuore Mio.”

“It feels like we’re falling.”

The creature doesn’t respond.

Hidden beneath stones and dust, an entrance lies to the depths of a volcano.

Without a second thought, the creature makes its way inside.

Dark shadows screamed at their entrance, glowing purple light singeing the outer feathers of the creature.

The girl let out a shout in fear, thrashing about in the creature’s talons.

The creature screeched and tightened its grip, the smallest inkling of blood fell from the girl’s shoulder.

The girl cried in pain. 

Why did she trust this… thing?!

She tries scratching the beast, her heart beating like a tribal drum.

The creature lowers its gaze to the girl, eyes shining red in a pitch black ocean.

It removes one talon from her shoulder.

It lands on her hair.

With a mighty bellow, the beast threw the girl to the ground below.

The beast lands on the ground with a pounding thud.

The girl lies crumpled on the ground, clutching her shoulder.

“Tell me, girl. What is your name?”

The girl continues crying and shaking her head.

The beast stomps on the ground once more.

“What is your name?!”

“I don’t have one!”

“Slander!”

“I’m telling the truth!”

“If that were, your story of having parents is a lie!”

The girl hiccups.

“It.. it was! I swear.”

The beast ponders this new find.

It smiles.

Excellent.

In a calm and quiet tone, it speaks.

“Would you like a name?” 

The girl stared in a confused and fearful face, raven hair almost blocking her view.

“What?”

“I can give you a name. I can give you magic. You’ll never have to be afraid again.”

“No. I don’t trust you.”

The beast smiles. A cold, heartless and unruly smile.

“Ah, but you have forgotten something. I am a Strige, my dear. “

The girl’s heart dropped.

“Do you know what we Striges do?”

The girl tried to scurry away.

“We transform.”

Blood falls out of her shoulder.

“We feed on blood.”

The floor starts burning.

“And you, my dear

The Strige’s eyes turn yellow.

“Would make a wonderful Circe.”

The Strige grabs her by the neck, smiles as she struggles against its grasp.

The yellow glow of its eyes entrance the girl.

“I can’t wait to make you a Strige.”

Her arms fall limply to her side, her eyes only seeing yellow.

“Welcome to the world, Magica De Spell.”

All she feels is fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New drinking game take a shot every time a character laughs or I use the word Creature


	6. Interlude III: Invaders of Rotten Land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to what is hopefully the shortest chapter in this fic ghsdae
> 
> Had a hard time writing this one for some reason idk why

Bridgid stands atop a red-coated valley, breathing heavily. Blood coats her face and stings her eye.

She growls, eyes burning.

Her armor shines a maroon glow and leather gloves charred black.

The grip on her bow tightens, her arrow’s wood crackling.

She sneers, the fire around her rising.

“Leave this land, invader. You are not welcome here.”

Circe grins.

“But am I not? Was it not I who won this battle? Have you shed memories along with your blood and forgotten that you are invaders yourself? Or need I remind you how many your kind has slaughtered to live in your so-called home? You are no better than your enemies.”

Brigid said nothing, only stretching her bow.

The air fills with ash.

“See? Not even you can deny it. You have filth on your hands. Just as much as I do-”

An arrow pierces her shoulder.

Brigid’s eyes darkened.

“Testy, are you?” Circe teases, only stealing a glance at the arrow piercing her shoulder.

"This is not a game, Circe. You walk on my land and slaughter my people with aimless vigor. I will not allow such actions to continue. As long as fire still burns and the tides still turn. I will fight you.”

Circe groans and rolls her eyes.

“You celts are so dramatic. All I wanted to do was pay a fellow goddess a visit and yet here we are. At war with each other over nothing!”

The grass under Brigid’s feet rot, anger seeping in.

“You killed my people, ravaged their farms and wear their skins as you own. You are a sickness I will not allow to spread on this land further.”

Circe scowls.

“You call me a sickness?! Your people disrespected a goddess. All I did was teach them a lesson! You claim to be a mother and yet you can’t discipline your own. A shame, really.”

Brigid’s arrow bursts into flames.

“You are not their goddess. You have no power over them. Your gods and their senseless pride will be your downfall, Circe.”

“Tell that to your son. Poor soul, he was. Died courageously in battle believing he needed no backup during his mission. That sure worked out great for him, now didn’t it? And what did you do once you found his lifeless body? You started screaming. Screaming and screaming like there was no tomorrow. And through every battle and day onwards, your guilt consumed you from the inside out. A pity. Your fire was out before it even sparked.”

Brigid closes her eyes and seethes. Swiftl, she lunges at the greek goddess, spewing fire from her lungs as she bellows a loud, piercing cry.

CLANG

Sword clashes with knife.

The two goddesses stare each other in the eye. 

“Do not speak of my son ever again, wench. His story is not be stained by a mouth like yours.”

“A mouth like mine? His story was stained long before I spoke of it. A spy intruding enemy territory, finding the weaponry and getting killed by the enemy. Ha! And what a bloody death it was! Isn’t that right?”

Brigid leans closer to the greek, her hot breath seering into Circe’s cold, dead face.

She whispers.

“How do you know of him?”

The witch grimaced.

“Oh, Brigid, haven’t you heard? Your son is making good company in Hades.”

As if frozen in time, the flames around the valley come to a standstill.

“What?

“Your son is a filthy traitor.”

“Quiet.”

“He’s no longer yours.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“Poor soul wanted nothing more than to get as far away from your kind as possible. Who can blame him, you all are terrible."

"ENOUGH!"

The poet releases her sword from the witch's knife and with a mighty thrust she pierces the witch’s side before she can react.

Circe’s eyes widen as she slowly arches her head downwards, blood spilling from her mouth in a slow, torturous pace.

Brigid growls, raspy and angry.

“You have slaughtered my kin in belief that you are their goddess. You battle my family and accuse my son of dwelling in a place none of us will ever dare to speak of. You have spilled innocent blood on innocent land, and for that,

You’ll pay the price.”

Circe’s eyes darken. She smiles, too wide to be happy, too shivering to be confident. She falls on her knees and Brigid follows, keeping her sword in Circe’s side.

“You have no clue what you have just done. I will never, ever leave. Your family will be cursed by mine for generations to come.”

Brigid shoves the blade.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Circe’s face grows a sickly greenish colour.

“You will see yellow shining in the night. You will hear my screams in broad light. I will fight against you for what you’ve done to me. And maybe one day, sunset against the sea, you’ll bow down to me.”

And with one last breath, the goddess crumpled on the ground.

Brigid stands atop a red-coated valley. A scowl lays on her face as her eyes glow orange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't understand what was happening: Circe traveled to Ireland to meet with other gods but the people said she herself wasn't one so she got pissed and killed them which started a war. 
> 
> And that's why Scrooge and Magica have a subconscious hate towards each other.


	7. Hidden In The Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donald sneaks into a hidden room inside of his Uncle's mansion, hoping to find some answers. But after a call with a close friend, Donald hesitates to continue his search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would ya look at that? Finally getting into the schmeat of things! Finally getting some plot!!! Woo!!!

Pintail, Donald decided, was an enigma he never asked for but has been left with nonetheless.

It was as if the universe decided to play a sick prank on him and haven’t stopped.

It’s winter break and he’s back at the mansion with Della, Scrooge and Duckworth. Beakley was off who-knows-where doing who-knows-what.

(“She’s on a spy mission, Donnie. I know she is!” Della insisted.

Donald scoffed.

“Sure and I can fly.” Della pouted.

“I’m right. Just wait and see.”

“Of course you are, Dells, of course you are.”)

Donald walks through the large and yet somehow unnoticeable library hidden in the cracks of the mansion, hoping to find any information on his supposed ancestor.

Donald hadn’t questioned getting magic. He certainly had no qualms over using it. 

And yet…

Pintail bothered him.

His ancestor. A storm spirit, had decided to just join a band of sailors to sail the ocean?

If he was as strong as his father said he was, then the spirit would have been fine becoming one with the sky and watching as they do all the work.

And yet he didn’t.

He deliberately made a body and name to go into the ship.

He deliberately made his way to that specific ship.

What if… what if that storm wasn’t an accident?

Donald's feet rumble underneath him.

Donald wanders through the expansive book haven. The dust gathering on each platform clearly indicates how little use the library has had.

Donald smiles to himself, rain pitter-pattering outside in the quiet winter night.

His fingers brush against the dark, cold wood. Small sparks leave his fingertips and burn into the perch. Lines stretch out into other lines and expand upwards and downwards in glowing zigzags before darkening into charred scars.

Donald ponders.

What kind of storm spirit even was Pintail?

Sure, he had asked his father about it before, but he didn’t know either.

Hopefully something here can help, right?

Donald winces inwardly.

He knows this is a longshot, but he doesn’t have many options left.

Donald looks back and forth between the large shelves with a groan. Rain silently dripping from his fingers.

Donald brings his hands to his face and sighs. Rainfall again. For some reason winter brings him uncontrollable weather outbursts. Emotional magic does that, he guessed.

Donald flashes back to the task at hand. Only one problem though...

Where the hell is he even supposed to start looking?!

He supposes he could get Della’s help… although she never did understand storms. Magical or otherwise. Donald supposes that’s just the phoenix in her, always soaring and bringing sunshine with it, never looking at the coming storm.

Scrooge is passed out at his table, burnt out from laying traps all day. His uncle’s vendetta against Santa Claus will forever baffle him.

Beakley was out doing God-Knows-What in God-Knows-Where.

Donald sighs and wanders through the back of the room. Asking his family for help is a no.

But what if…

Donald’s eyes flash a bright light.

He shakes the rain from his hands and grabs his phone, immediately dialing a number he knows by heart.

“Come on pick up already. I know you’re not sleeping, you never sleep.”

After a few minutes the call was picked up. Donald heard a voice rise through the speaker, barely above a whisper.

“Donald? Why are you calling me at… three in the morning? Why are you even up right now?”

Donald rolls his eyes.

“Please, Mickey, as if you were sleeping.”

The line goes silent.

“Yeah fair enough. What do you need?”

Donald takes a breath.

Now or never.

“I need a background check on Pintail’s magic link to mine.”

Without skipping a beat, Mickey replies.

“From your father's side or your mother's side?”

“Father’s.”

“I’ll see what I can find. But I will warn you; Winds of time carry fate with them. You change the winds. They are not always merciful, especially towards you."

".... Mickey your wispy-seery bullshit is unnecessary please just tell me what you want me to know."

Mickey laughs on the other line, Donald grumbles as rain thunders on the windows.

"Sorry Don it's instinct. But you know I can't tell you any more than that. Prophetic warnings come as they are and that's how I tell them." 

"However you can help me with this, right?"

"I have a few sources I can look into. Have you asked Goofy yet?"

Donald picked up a book. 'A Key of Storms and Stars: Your Guide to Stormy Seas and The Creatures Lurking In Them'. Donald cocks a brow at the title, weird genres have weird titles, He supposes.

"Why would I ask Goofy? I mean sure, guy's got some powerful ancestry but how does any of it help mine?"

“While his magic in and of itself is weak, it comes with a small bonus of being able to travel to the Underworld. And by extension, knowledge of all the souls who travel there.”

Donald cringes.

“That could work, but my father’s side of the family is much more muddled than my mother’s. Even if Pintail did happen to be greek, how will we find him?”

“Ah, that’s the beauty of it, Donald. It’s not just the afterlife for greeks! From what Goofy told me, Afterlives are a complicated system but you have jurisdiction over where you go! It’s a longshot but there is a possibility to find his soul residing in River Styx.”

The storm outside pauses. Raindrops stuck in time.

Well then….

“That’s, uh. I did not know that.”

Mickey laughs from the other side.

“You should’ve seen my reactions to when he told me about it! You’d think as someone who talks to lost souls and spirit on an almost daily basis I’d know these things but apparently not!”

Donald chuckles.

“Seems that way. I will try to call him, though.”

“Put him in a three way chat with us. He’s awake right now.”

Donald stopped scrolling through the book in his hand and did as Mickey said. As annoying as his friend might be, he is a caller of fate. And you can’t say no to a caller of fate.

No matter how hard he tries to.

After five minutes of dialing, the call picked up.

“Hello? Donald is that you?”

“No it’s Hades, The Lord of The Dead.”

“It is? Gawrsh it’s such an honor to meet you, sir!”

Mickey guffawed and chortled at the dog’s response.

“What? No! Goofy it’s me, Donald!”

“Donald? Where’d Hades go?”

Donald sighs and pinches the area around his eyes, frost remaining on his eyelashes.

"N-no Goofy it was a joke."

"Sorry pal! I’m very sleep deprived right now so you’re gonna have to speak clearly.”

“Hear that, Mickey?”

“Yeah, Yeah.”

“Oh, hiya Mick! I didn’t know you were on the call! Say, aren’t both of you supposed to be sleeping?”

“Same goes to you, Goof.”

“.... Touche.”

Donald rolls his eyes at his friends’ antics. For people descending from seemingly all-powerful beings, they embody humanity better than any other person he’s ever met.

“Listen, Goofy, I need your help.”

“I’d be happy to help! What’s up?”

“When’s the next time you can travel to the Underworld?”

His question is met with a freezing silence.

“Come again?” Goofy almost whispered.

“When is the next time you can travel to the Underworld?” Donald enunciates.

Goofy speaks hesitantly, his voice shaking between words.

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Because my magic link is bullshit and his story makes no sense.”

“Donald, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Donald seethes, the rain outside synchronising it’s fall to his breath.

“My magic supposedly comes from my ancestor Pintail Duck. Who, according to my father, is a “storm spirit“ that came to a ship under the guise of a normal being and ended up flooding it? Something about it doesn’t sit right with me and since he’s, y’know… dead maybe you can try to reach him.”

He hears Goofy wince, “I don't know, Donald. Even if I could reach River Styx’s archives it would take forever to see if he’s even made it there. It’s a shot in the dark here.”

Donald sighs, posture melting into the ground below him. 

“Alright. I understand.”

“I’m sorry, Donald, but I can’t do much here. I wish there was more I could do to help.”

Mickey speaks up for the first time since Goofy arrived.

“You’ve already done a lot, pal. It’s okay.”

Goofy exhales. “If you say so. Listen, I’m gonna head to bed and you two should think about it soon, alright? Investigations take energy and you can’t waste it all in one sitting.”

Donald chuckles softly, “Okay, Goofy. We will.”

Donald swears he can hear Goofy smiling when he says, “Good. Now sleep well y’all. “

“Goodnight, Goofy.” Mickey whispers. Donald mutters out a dry “ ‘Night.” as Goofy disconnects from the call.

The two sit in silence, the only sound around them is the whistling wind and raging water droplets hitting the window.

“Well that was helpful.”

Donald chortles, “Yeah…”

Silence stretches once more.

“While Goofy might not have found anything, I think I might possibly have a lead?”

Donald’s head shoots up, eyes flashing a bright blue.

“What is it? Is it good? Please tell me it’s good.”

“It’s good, It’s good! You don’t have to worry about anything!” Mickey reassures him.

“So, I think your father might have a few of his facts wrong. First, I don’t see anything about anyone named Pintail Duck. No public records, no private letters, no house or immediate relatives. Hell, it’s like the guy never even existed!”

Donald widens his eyes as both fear and curiosity strike his mind. 

“ Which means… what exactly?”

“It means that it’s a fake name. He made it up! Usually shapeshifters steal real people’s identities to use as their own but if it’s a completely fake one,”

Mickey stops, letting Donald finish the puzzle.

“Then he’s… an aspiring writer with a pen name?” Donald jokes.

“What? No! It means he’s made it up for a mission!”

Donald stares at his phone in confusion, hoping his silence expresses his face.

“What mission?”

“Donald, he’s a spy.”

Donald’s blood ran cold.

“What.”

“He’s a spy. He worked for someone under the guise of a Storm Caller and took information from them. Once he got all of his information, he sank the ship.”

“I don’t… what?”

“Donald… I think your ancestor is a Nymph spy.”

Donald doesn’t sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment it gives me life okay thank you bye


	8. There Is Silence, For Just a Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donald comes to a stark realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *comes back from the dead* I L I V E
> 
> I took a week break cause I had no ideas™ and then I came back to work on it and had no ideas™
> 
> And then I read a spider-verse fanfic and got an idea™

Winds of change are a powerful thing.

To call Wind alive would be an understatement.

It breathes, cries, rages and shrieks just as any other being does.

And to Donald, it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Wind had always considered him an ally, a friend.

Wind had always invited Donald with open arms.

No matter the crisis, Donald knew he could confide in Wind.

Often as a child, Donald would ask his parents how Wind was doing while he was away. 

The two never understood.

They couldn’t see Wind.

But Donald could.

Wind looks like the howling of a wolf after a successful hunt.

Wind looks like the gentle lull of sleep pouring over a baby for the first time.

Wind looks like soul.

Magic had always been around and people knew it. 

Yet, such a rare thing it was to be able to see it.

“It is not their fault,” Wind whispered. “They have forgotten how to see a long, long time ago.”

Donald remembers.

The boy doesn’t know why he does.

Wind tells him it is for a reason.

Donald is not so sure.

He had asked once,

“What of the people who tried to remember? The ones who want to remember but can’t? What became of them?”

Wind paused.

“Eyes can deceive just as they can reveal truths. Not all can handle truth, even when they ask for it.”

Donald said nothing.

(That night, he dreamt of storms. Sailors jumping off boats, screaming desperately for mercy. He dreamt of mothers weeping at the foot of their fireplaces, begging for warmth of their kin, each breath of theirs becoming colder and colder. He dreamt of soldiers breathing ash and smoke into dirty lungs, clutching dog tags as they cried to the sky in horror. He dreamt of young kids, enamoured by the space inbetween stars, the cold shadows trailing up their arms as they laughed and cooed.)

Donald trusted Wind. He trusted it more than he did anyone else in his family.

So as Della and Scrooge panic and try to steer the Cloudslayer through a dark storm, Donald is not worried.

Donald is frustrated.

Donald stares outside the window, lighting reflecting in his eyes. In the back of his eyes and the back of his head, Wind argues.

"Nymph spy? What a ridiculous notion!"

Donald whispers, his rasp deepening as his voice lowers.

"I have to trust him. He's a seer and-"

Lighting strikes the left wing of the plane.

"He's a mortal! Mortals make mistakes! I am a being in charge of storm and sea! I have seen tragedy and enlightenment that none of you will ever imagine! You have to trust me when I say that he's wrong."

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not? What of myself is there not to trust

“Magic is a fickle force and the people from which they stem even more. The De Spells have done well enough to prove that.” Donald rolls his eyes.

“The De Spells are a kin of evil and are a stain upon the world of magic. I would appreciate it if you never compare me to those scum again.”

Donald sighs and puts his head against the frosting glass of the window.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you. But the notion still stands. Your friend might be a seer, but he is incorrect.”

Donald raises a brow, curiosity sparking in his fingertips.

“Oh yeah? Why would that be, Oh Great and Powerful Force of Nature?”

“I know who Pinatil is. I know who all beings of the storm are. It is not as if you are the only one.”

Donald mumbles.

“I know… but if you knew him and you knew I was looking for answers why didn’t you say anything?”

Wind slows, the storm outside calms, yet the grey sky never leaves.

“Even I am limited in what I can say. Unfortunately, I cannot aid you in what you seek.”

Donald freezes. 

“You’re limited? By what? It’s not as if you work for someone.”

Donald hears no whistling or shrieking.

“You do work for someone, don’t you?”

“Donald, I’m not your enemy.I promise I’m here to help-”

“You’re a spy. You’ve been spying on me for years. You-you were never my friend.”

“Come now, Donald you know that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

Thunder rumbles inside the Cloudlsayer.

“All the cryptic answers you keep giving me, all the intrusive questions I get asked. You’ve been using me.”

“I…”

“You are a foul being, Wind.”

Lightning strikes open the hatch of the plane.

“Or should I call you Pintail?”

“....”

Donald scoffs. Unbelievable.

“You wretched, horrible being. Hey, I bet you’re a Strige, aren't you? Working for the De Spells against the McDucks, I should have known.”

Donald raises both arms, commanding the sky to bend around him, air hot as a flame envelops him.

Muffled behind the sound of the wind, Donal can faintly hear the cries of Scrooge and Della. Screaming, pleading for him to calm down. To come back to them. 

‘For what?’ A voice in the back of his head speaks. ‘For them to use you as a scapegoat again? For them to abuse your gift and throw you away when they’re finished with you?’

Donald sneers. Eyes burning a bright white, pushing deep into his skull.

“I have had enough of being used! You want to come get me? Fine, be my guest.” He roars.

With a flick of his hand, Donald goes tumbling out of the Cloudslayer and into the storm ahead.

“DONALD!” Three voices shout simultaneously.

Donald hears nothing.

He pushes himself forward with flaming gusts of wind, one step after the other.

Blood drips from the burns collecting on his yellow feet but he keeps trudging forward.

In the distance, Donald can see circular motion erupting from the sky. A hurricane.

Donald races towards it with newfound vigor.

His breath releases lightning with every pant, his hands showering blistering hot rain into the ocean, miles and miles below him.

Donald doesn’t look down.

He doesn’t look ahead.

His webbed feet have already gone numb from the burning but Donald doesn’t think about it.

He doesn’t think at all.

Everything in him is screaming ‘Go! Go into the hurricane! Control it!’

And Donald does just that.

After all, he can’t deny his magic.

Donald circles around the grey swirling storm, looking for the best way to get inside.

He takes a deep, scratching breath and raises his left hand, energy crackling and burning on his fingertips.

Donald closes his eyes…

And slashes downward.

The sky roared a deafening thunder and Donald opened his eyes.

In front of his eyes, a searing bright bolt of lightning strikes down from the sky directly into the hurricane’s swirling clouds.

The hurricane doesn’t budge.

Donald screams.

From his right hand, a powerful gust of wind.

Nothing.

Donald keeps hitting and hitting, sparing no expense.

Nothing budges.

Donald growls and with a mighty gust of wind hurls himself into the cataclysm.

The fog cluttering Donald’s mind clears and for the first time in what could be hours, Donald can see clearly.

A bright blue expanse looks down at him.

A calm, warm feeling washes over his face as tears threaten to spill out.

‘What heavy burden lays upon you, Storm?’

‘I have been used and abused for who I am and I cannot take it any longer.’

‘You hold much farther than that, my dear. A heavy burden lies upon your shoulders and yet you cannot see it.’

‘I face no burden.’

‘You will. It will not be an easy one to understand and accept, but you must accept it as it comes.’  
‘I don’t understand.’

‘You will soon, Storm.’

Donald closes his eyes as exhaustion pours over him.

With a tired breath, Donald falls out of the storm.

And into the raging sea below him.

His back hits the water with a cold, stinging welcome and pushes Donald under.

The farther Donald goes down, the more he can see.

Fish swim about and seaweed dance around his vision. 

He hits the sand with a soft thud and watches the particles float around him.

‘This is it,’ Donald thinks ‘I’m going to die.’

With a final exhale, Donald closes his eyes.

A hand covered in gold jewelry plunges into the water and picks up the unconscious duck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life really do be like a hurricane huh
> 
> I was listening to Ninjago songs while writing this and I have to say one of the best decisions I've made 10/10 would spin again.


	9. Wind Comes Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like to call this chapter
> 
> Whoops I dropped morals into my fanfiction too late to take it out now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi.
> 
> Yeah I have no excuses for being gone for so long. Got a really bad case of the writers block and couldn't write the next chapter. Hell, this isn't the chapter I've been trying to write. Consider this like a small interlude as I keep trying to write the goddamn chapter that's giving me hell.

“That’s the most beautiful thing about being alive. You’ve been given the wonderful gift of change. You can shift, rebuild, or completely alter yourself and those around you. You can see and learn from experience and grow from it… how I envy you.”

A deep, tired chuckle escaped his throat.

“Envy us? Why, if anything we should be envious of you.”

"I am not a being to be envious of, my dear. My people have created far too many grievances. For your kind and ours."

"My people and yours are not so different. We have both made mistakes,”

She shook her head, eyes gazing downward.

“Yet you can move forward. I cannot.”

The man grimaced and shrugged his shoulders.

“Move forward, sure. But progress? That we have not learned yet.”

“It’s unfair to you all how short your existence is. Imagine what could be made possible if you just had more time.”

“Having more time is not the issue. By that logic, you and your people would have learned and made all of the changes needed in the world.”

She sighed.

“Fair enough.”

The two sat in a comfortable silence, the clinking of a toothpick against glass is the only sound to fill the empty space.

“Change is one of the hardest elements to accept. It’s as tempting as it is terrifying. No living being is capable of change without any hesitance.”

“And yet you do so anyway. It is an incredible gift.”

“The gift is not the ability to change.”

“Then what is?”

“The gift is the ability to improve.”

The man leans a hand on his velvet couch, eyes closed in deep thought. He purses his lips before speaking,

“The gift is having the chance to improve and get better. Learning from mistakes means nothing unless you get the opportunity to use what you know now.”

He bitterly scoffs.

“How rare that is for both of us.”

She nods in sympathy, a pitying smile upon her face.

“One day, we’ll see the world change.

The man lifts his head, bright dots of stars dance across his eyes.

He smiles.

“One day…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can guess who's talking with who
> 
> How in the world did you do that I've only introduced one of these characters


	10. Divine Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donald wakes up to find himself in the company of two certain Greek deities. Together they hatch a plan to reunite Donald with his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just: Donald loses consciousness and meets a new magic user as Scrooge and Della try to find him again part 2 Electric Boogaloo

Donald woke to the sound of streaming water.

Gazing up, his blurred eyes strained to focus on the gold streaks on the ceiling.

“Sister! He has awoken!” A grand voice bellowed next to him.

Donald groans and props himself on his elbows, eyes still unable to focus. Distantly, Donald is aware of a hum growing in the back of his head.

“Oh, you might not want to sit up just yet. Whatever it is you went through, put a big strain on your body.” A softer, higher voice joins.

“Ugh, where the hell am I?” Donald muttered.

“First of all, no hell while we’re around. Second of all you’re in-”

“Ithaquack! Home of legendary heroes and immortal gods! Where the fiercest warriors rest their weary bodies before charging off into battle once more! Where Gods can walk the soil and connect with the earth itself! Where-”

“Thank you for that, Storkules. I appreciate the interruption.”

“Deepest apologies, dear sister of mine. It’s just not very often we get a mortal on our land. You know this seldom happens, Selene.”

A sigh.

“I know, Storkules. I’m excited too! But we have to take it slow. This is a mortal we’re talking about here. For all we know he might have never heard of magic before. Or us.”

“Great Olympus, never hear of us?! I certainly hope not! Are we not the ones in control of moon and sky? Are we not the greatest heroes to ever tread upon land?”

“Storky there’s a world out there functioning without us. It’s not like we’re in charge of mortals anymore.”

“I know that but-”

Dnald cleared his throat.

“Excuse me? Mortal here, still very confused on… everything. Wait am I dead?”

The supposed siblings look at Donald in shack before bursting out into laughter.

“Oh goodness gracious me, no. You’re not dead. You’re on an island on the tip of Greece. This place is where most gods live and y’know. Do their jobs.”

Donald eyes the girl up and down. With a brow raised, he doubtedly responds.

“Right… and you are?

“Oh, I’m Selene. Goddess of the moon, daughter of Zeus.”

Donald nods, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Okay.. and Beefy McBeefcase over there is?”

“Storkules. My brother.”

‘A hero to all mortals big and small! Why I’m the Colossus of Corinth! The hero of Heliopolis! Surely you’ve heard of me.”

Donald shrugs.

“I mean, sure I’ve heard of greek gods but not you specifically.”

Storkules puts an astounded hand to his chest and gasps.

“Well who might you be? It’s not everyday that a mortal washes up on our shore.”

“He didn’t ‘wash up on shore’ I valiantly rescued him from the depths of the ocean and gave him sanctuary.”  
“He was on the shore, Storkules.”

“A rescue nonetheless!”

Donald strains a smile and tries not to scream. The buzzing in his head getting more and more prominent.

Selene rolls her eyes and looks back at Donald.

“Anyways. You were about to introduce yourself?”

Donald nodded.

“Name’s Donald Duck.”

She smiles.

“Donald, huh? How’d you end up almost drowned on our island?”

Donald felt heat rise to his cheeks.

“I-uh. I kinda trapped myself in a hurricane…” Donald mutters.

Selene leans closer.

“You what?”

“I trapped myself in a hurricane, alright?!”

Donald snapped.

“Why in Olympus would you do that?”

“I don’t know! All of a sudden everything in me and around me told me to do so. It was like there was fog in my mind and all I could think about was gaining control of the storm.”

Storkules and Selene spared a concerned glance before turning back to Donald.

“Well some good news, you did control the giant raging hurricane for like three minutes there, but in slightly worse news, you’re incredibly injured and it’s very likely that you broke a bone or two. Thank goodness we brought Apollo to you in time. You had a very close call there.”

Donald cringed and shrunk in on himself, ashamed that he got so close to dying like that.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. From what you described your-ehm… outburst wasn’t exactly a conscious choice.”

Doald shakes his head.

“No, I chose to be angry. I chose to jump to conclusions that were never there. I chose to fly out of the window of a plane and-”

Donald’s eyes burst open.

“Oh np, my family! Della and Scrooge are still out there I have to go find them-!”

Just as Donald begins to stand up, Storkules rests his hand upon Donald’s small feathered chest. 

“Nay, Friend Donald. Our local healer may have healed your wounds but your injuries are still there. You need rest and sustenance before facing any battle.”

“It’s not a battle I need to find-”

“Do you know your way here?”

“What?” Donald hisses.

Storkules remains stern.

“Do you know your way around Ithaquack.”

“....No.”

“Then it is decided, I shall search for this family of yours and you will all be reunited! A heroic task, indeed!”

Selene shook her head.

"It would be if we were allowed to leave the temple. After the stunt you pulled last week I'd be surprised if Father would allow us to leave in the next millennium.”

Storkules’ figure deflates, golden eyes dropping to the ground.

Donald groans and scrunches his eyes. The buzzing in his head morphing into a thunderous beat. His grip on the bed he was perched on tightened, pieces of marble falling on the ground from the lightning striking from his fingers.

“How about we all just sneak out? What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

Selene winced.

“I don’t know, Donald. You’re still healing from almost drowning, remember?”

“I’ll be fine. Let’s just leave.”

“To adventure!”

Storkules’ steps thunder in the halls as he makes his way through the open temple.

“I suppose we better catch up. Can you walk on your own?”

Donald tried not to make a pained face as he ascended from the marble bed.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be fine. Let’s just move before someone finds us.”

Thunder clapped outside, forcing Donald to jump in surprise. In a swift motion Donald turns around, anxiety spiking in his chest.

“A little too late for that, mortal.”

Beside him Selene let out a nervous chuckle.

“Donald, I’d like you to meet my father, Zeus. God of storms.”

Donald’s heart dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean this was bound to happen eventually right
> 
> Couldn't make a magic ducktales au that references and uses mythology without not talking about Ithaquack.
> 
> But hey next chapter you're gonna get to see actual magic being used constantly and in the form of battle.
> 
> (Pray for me and my non-action writing self)
> 
> Also fun fact in this au: Most powerful magic users can't be in an area with a lot of magic in it. The area drains the user's power for it's own and leaves the magic user tired and agitated at best and at worst heavily injured. Weaker users live in solitary closer to magical areas to try and connect and gain some of it's power while stornger users live in modern and populated areas as they already have so much magical energy


	11. Thundering Heartbeats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Emerges from the dust and ashes*
> 
> Miss me? I know I did

"Run that by me again."

"There's a mortal on Ithaquack, sir."

Zeus arose from his throne with a rumbling groan, lightning bolt in hand. A mortal, present on his beloved Ithaquack? 

Unacceptable.

“Would you like me to bring him to you, sir?” Hermes warily inquired, sensing the fellow God’s anger.

Zeus waved him off.

"Don't brother. I'll find him myself."

Hermes nods, trying to force down a lump in his throat.

"I'll leave you to it."

Hermes nods and exits the throne room with determination in his eyes. The messenger seemed upset for a reason. Not that it matters to Zeus, anyways. He has more important matters to deal with.

Zeus storms through the tall, gangly arches of cloud and marble, swiftly making his way to the stables where his proud stallions stand ready for action.

The god reaches a hand up to the nearest horse, Boreas and pets it’s wet wispy mane. In a hushed mumble he speaks to his beloved pets.

“Looks like we’re headed to Ithawqack today. You better be in top shape for such a flight.”

In no time the carriage lifted into the sky, the crisp smell of petrichor on Olympus fading out into the smell of smoke as the carriage sped above Greece.

Zeus growled, lighting erupting from his feathers, threatening to leave his beak with a great shout. How dare the mortal have the gall to step foot anywhere near his beautiful island. How dare they even know of such a place. This situation is bad enough but is only made worse by one fact.

His kids are there. 

The two of them have been wreaking havoc on every god still present on Olympus. Last week just broke the camel’s back and Zeus sent them away to the Ithaquack temple to think about what they’ve done.

Now with the mortal present who knows what they’ll do.

Zeus's eyes narrow as he reaches his destination. A tiny, hidden island on the tip of Greece just out of sight. 

At the very least, used to be out of sight.

Zeus lands his golden chariot atop the highest temple and jumps off with a loud thud.

He sighs and trudges to release his prized horshorses.

As Zeus gets closer to Zephyrus, the more restless the wind deity gets. 

Carefully Zeus releases his hold on the west wind.

In return, the horse bucks him clear in the stomach and flies away. 

The chain holding the others breaks with a sharp ring and the three wind equines neigh a thundering roar. A loud shriek rising from the sky, rumbling down to the temple roof as wind whipped around the horses while they charged into the sky.

Zeus gasped and scurried to his feet, shaking his hand at the passing wind.

“Fine! Who needs you!”

Zeus shouts and with a flick of his wrist lightning bursts upwards in all directions, sparking and sputtering with all their might.

With a scowl on his face and an ever-growing aggravation in his head, Zeus makes his way through the temple. The mortal was surely discovered by someone; If not his kids then at least some of the gods staying on the island.

While walking across the great halls of clay and gold Zeus can hear the muffled yells of his heroic son getting farther away. Good. The farther away that boy can get the better. Storkules’ habit of getting attached to mortals had never fared well in the past. Always ending in one tragedy or another. Better that he not be around for the time being.

“Let’s just go before someone finds us.”

Now’s the moment.

Zeus opens the door and raises his hand. And with the slightest of flicks an ear-splitting thunder roared from the outside.

“A little too late for that, mortal.”

\----------------------------  
Donald doesn’t know whether to be honored or terrified at the prospect of meeting the god of storms.

His father had always yapped about beings of storms and what they could do. Anything from the polish latawiec to the japanese raiju. His dad didn't know much about other magical creatures; heck he didn't know much in general, but he'd always been knowledgeable on storm magic. 

As such, Donald's always known about Zeus and what he's done. 

So when Donald finds himself face-to-face with the God Of Storms himself, he's admittedly a little terrified.

The buzzing in Donald's head turns into a constant ringing, crackling and popping as if his ears are filled with sparks. 

Donald strains his eyes and tries to spare a glance at the God in front of him and against all odds, his eyes widen.

For the first time in years, Donald can see someone's passive magic.

He's spent so long around such powerful users he'd almost forgotten what passive magic looks like. But it's not just passive.

It's downright furious.

A jolt zaps through Donald's spine.

Lightning whips and strikes and breaks in all directions, Zeus' feet hover ever-so-slightly above ground, ashen clouds roll from under his faded orange legs. Freezing rain collects from under his fingers and slams onto the bronze marble floor. 

The worst part however, were the eyes.

A searing hot white pulsed around his eyes, singeing the stark white feathers ever so slightly. The god's pupils were a dark silver striking into Donald's soul as if it were sending Donald to his doom.

Donald forced down a shout threatening to evade his beak.

Why did the God have such visible passive magic? What has he been keeping back?!

The God sneered.

"What are you doing on my island, peasant?"

Donald bit the inside of his cheek. The God seemed pretty mad already and Donald doesn't know how to respond in a way that won't make him mad.

The God summoned his lighting bolt staff and slammed it on the floor, cracking the marble. The crack cascaded towards Donald.

"Answer me, mortal!"

"I just crash landed here!" Donald exclaims, raising his arms and slowly backing away. "I'm looking for my family. They're somewhere on the island."

The God sneered. "What makes you so sure?"

Donald rolls his eyes ever-so-slightly. "Trust me. They're here."

The clouds surrounding the God darkened.  
"How dare you bring more of your kind on my land. How dare you have the audacity to believe you are worthy of even stepping foot here. How- how could any of you mortals even try to step foot onto my beloved island?!”

The God sneered at Donald with black storm clouds in his eyes and lightning at his fingertips.

Donald took a step back, then another and another. Donald started sprinting through the halls trying desperately to ignore his limping left leg. His heart thundered and his vision blurred with tears. The wind howled at him to get away as fast as he could but Donald could barely hear it. The only sound prevalent enough in his mind was the ringing of Zeus’ magic and the sound of his own wheeze.

Lightning struck the ground right as Donald lifted his leg. Zeus was catching up to him. Fast. Donald kept running, looking for something, anything he can use as a means to escape.

‘Why didn’t this gosh-darned temple have any windows?!’ Donald thinks.

Donald stops running, looking frantically at every direction he can, squinting his eyes trying to find a way out. He keeps spinning and spinning until-

He sees a spark of light fly past his vision, for just a split second. 

“AAGH!” Donald shouts as he grabs his shoulder, bleeding and blistering and filled to the brim with a horrible, horrible electrical sensation.

Donald takes a moment before his mind finally catches up with the daunting realization that he’s just been struck by lightning,

No, not stuck by lightning.

Shot.

“Looking for the exit?” Zeus booms, the smell of smoke surrounding the god as he shakes his ash-filled hand. “Let me see you to the door!” 

Donald feels a whipping wind pick him up and with a painful crack, smash him through the temple and onto the sand below.

In that instant, all Donald sees is red.

The God shoots out of the temple like a bullet from a gun, crackling loudly as he lands in front of Donald, sand flying from beneath his legs.

“Get off of my island. Now.”

Donald doesn’t speak, the only motion surrounding him is the howling wind brushing through his torn blue shirt and flannel. His hand grips the sand tighter as he slowly raises his knees.

“Didn’t you hear me?! I said get off!”

Donald takes in a deep breath and slowly directs his attention to his sand-filled hand. Focus all your energy to one point, overpower the land’s energy and release.

The God raises his hand and forms a clump of lightning in his finger’s, all coming to one point right above the middle of his palm and lashes out towards Donald.

Donald quickly dodges to the left and quickly tosses the sand particles through the air, shooting an electric current through them. Donald smiles as the sand comes together and forms sharp blades of electricity and glass.

Just before Zeus can evade the newly-formed fulgurites, a cluster finds its way into his arm just above the elbow. 

He shouts in alarm as his arm starts bleeding. 

Donald smirked at the sound of Zeus' alarm. Even if he couldn't see much beyond his hand Donald felt great pleasure in knowing he made a mark on the God.

Zeus brings his uninjured hand towards his open wound and pats the carmine-stained feathers. He brings the red coated hand towards his face and gapes. Something dark stirs in his eyes as he watches his blood soak deeply into his feathers and down his wrists.

He chuckles. An incredulous, aggravated chuckle that sounds too soft, too nostalgic to be anything short of deranged that stops any victorious thought in Donald's mind.

"I can't remember the last time I was hit like that."

Donald stands on wobbly knees and readies his next attack.

"In fact, I don't think I've ever been hit like that."

Taking a deep breath Donald summons a snowstorm to the tips of his fingers, a cold running through his arms and leaving his beak in puffs of fog.

"You really don't give up, do you? I think it's time you mortals learned your place in the world!"

Donald shuts his eyes and aims as close as he can to Zeus, but the God evades the attack and brushes himself to the side, inching slowly towards the sea.

Donald drags himself towards the God of Storms. He knows this is a stupid fight but he'll be six feet under before he admits defeat to a sleazy out-of-touch lightning douchebag like Zeus.

Zeus stares Donald dead in the eyes and watches as Donald brings himself towards his enemy. His hand is twitching, readying for an attack. 

But Donald doesn’t care. He charges at Zeus and yells at the top of his lungs, his throat burning with fire and lightning combined and his fist freezes over to the coldest ice he can possibly make it and Donald takes a running jump and-

Zeus flicks his wrist and a titan wave crashes over Donald, pulling him under before he has the chance to say anything,

Zeus pushes the wave back out into the sea, as far away as he can get it and Donald thrashes about, trying to stay afloat, Saltwater filling up his lungs and stinging his eyes, his newly healed injuries already falling apart,

Donald sees the Ithaquack distantly in front of him. On its sand stands a blurry red… thing. Donald spares the thought of a smile. He knew his family would find him. They always do.

But what can he do now?

Donald’s tired. His arms scream for a rest and his legs beg for mercy but Donald has to stay afloat. Beneath the surface he knows his magic will be drained for all its worth. His feathers are wet and his feet are below ground so no wind to carry him anywhere.

Donald tries to laugh, but all that escapes is a grim and ugly cough. 

He just can’t get a break, can he?

He can just drift away on the sea, he supposes. Must be better than dying down there.

Just as Donald closes his eyes he feels a talon grab his head and propel him onto a carriage.

A flying, golden carriage.

“Hi there! My name’s Iris! Goddess of rainbows and personal messenger of the gods. Hera wanted to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I'm so sorry I know it's been months this chapter was just a bitch to get through please forgive me qwq


	12. *Stayin' Alive by the Bee Gees plays in the distance*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *crashes down door* hi

HELLO EVERYONE THIS FANFICTION IS NOT ABANDONED!!!!!!!!!! I am just currently working on a h u g e fanfic right now and I don't know when I'll finish it but I p r o m i s e as soon as I do I will update.

In the meantine, here's some fun facts about this au that I may or may have not said before:

\- Everyone in Duckburg has some kind of magic. In a little under half the population the magic is active and alive but still needs work to develop.

\- There are camps and events for kids to learn how to use their magics and meet other magic users.

\- Magic can be lost or become passive and uncontrollable if not used. Passive magic can't be seen or used by the person who possesses the magic but a small amount of the population is able to see passive magic, like Donald.

\- The most common way a magic can become passive is through generational misuse. Families can choose to ignore their magic or use technology over magic. It's possible for people to regain their magic that's been passive for generations but it'll take a lot of work and probably won't return to it's full ability.

\- Gus's magic is passive but that's just because he doesn't want to use it

\- Gladstone's magic is... an interesting case that I might make a oneshot of just explaining his magic

\- Donald feels familiar to Storkules and Selene but they don't know from where

\- Scrooge's magic used to be passive until Donald and Della came to stay with him

\- Magica's magic is both something she developed by herself and got cursed with

\- Donald can use the powers of the phoenix, just to a lesser extent than Della and vice versa with Della and storm calling magic

\- This one isn't really part of the au but I just want to say that it took me 6 goddamn hours to find Mickey's family tree and genealogy to find out what magic to give him cause everyone's magic is dependent on their nationality

\- Anyways the oldest trace of Mickey's family tree is a birth certificate dated to September 30th, 1754 in Worcester Massachusetts

\- Goofy can go into the underworld whenever he wants to and by extension so can Max 

\- Donald can walk on water but he always forgets that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE I'LL GET BACK TO THIS FIC IT'S JUST TAKING A WHILE HHHHHH


End file.
